Sea-leopards and other phocine creatures were all around in multitudes.
It was determined to risk another lie-to, for the water was too deep to anchor, and they must not venture near those mountain peaks, for unknown seas have a disagreeable habit of shoaling suddenly, and if it is not low water when a ship is stranded, poor indeed is her chance of ever getting off again.
The day was very long now, but still there was a marvellous sunset to-night. Strange colours, rubies, greens, and orange, lingered long on the mountain and snow-cliffs full half an hour after the sun went down. And after the stars shone out, a quarter moon sailed slowly up, but seemed to detract in no whit from their wondrous brightness.
High above shone the Southern Cross, a constellation which in this country can, of course, never be observed. The scene about midnight, when Ingomar and the boys came up to have a last look at it before turning in, might well have been called solemn, but for the strange noises which hardly ever ceased.
Here and there, near to the ship even, was the hissing and hurtling as of a ship blowing off steam, and looking in the direction from which these came, great fountains or geysers could be noticed in the pale light. Whales were blowing. Other sounds, and sighs, and cries, and snortings, and moanings were incessant, and now and then long-drawn cries, proceeding whence or from what no one could ever guess.
For the rocks were covered with skuas, cormorants, and many a curious bird never met with in Northern waters.
“Do these creatures never sleep, I wonder?” asked Charlie.
“Hardly ever in early December,” said Captain Mayne Brace, who stood near him, “because, Charlie, this is the season of love and joy, and the shores are covered with nestlings, who would hardly permit their parents to sleep, if they wished to.”
“But I suppose they sleep sometimes?”
“They just have a nap or a nod or two now and then, when Nature won’t be denied any longer.